The Heroine is My Stepsister, and I'm her Final Boss-Chapter 49: The Eternal Dreamer Awakens

The Realm of Dreams – The Tomb Within the Castle

In the realm of dreaming, eternal is the one who had truly lived. Eternal is the one who had chosen life. Eternal is the one who had dreamed and, in the end, embraced death—completing its cycle, leaving behind both good or bad. May they be Shining bright like the sun or dwelling cold in the darkness like the moon, remaining within the mortal plane where one can choose both sides, Dream about both sides.

They say if one is born, it shall one day die. Birth gives people a life; death gives meaning to that life. But no—there is more. Between the lines of life and death lies the dream—a realm of hope and nightmare, a natural cycle binding all beings to fate’s unyielding thread. As long as nature takes its course, the ruler of the dream realm—the Overlord, the First Undead—can rest humbly, secure in the knowledge that his laws endure.

Absolute are the world and its laws, absolute is he who enforces them. His dominion over dreams must remain resolute, must remain untouchable.

Crack!

But something happened—a fissure splitting through this perfection. A crack born not from without but from within, an impossibility given form. For only those who could dream were meant to enter his realm, and once inside, they would be lost forever.

Yet here it was, undeniable proof of intrusion.

In the darkness of the castle, a wooden tomb lay bare, its lid flung open. Clawed hands gripped its edges, pale skin glowing faintly in the dim light. Slowly, deliberately, a figure pulled himself up, his face obscured beneath a cascade of long, matted hair. He sniffed the air, nostrils flaring.

{{{....Demons?}}}

Yes, demons—the only creatures capable of navigating the dream realm. Born neither alive nor dead, they existed outside the boundaries of mortality and slumber. Their presence alone signaled danger, for they were anomalies in this sacred space. And now, they dared trespass upon the sanctity of his domain.

He rose fully, his emaciated frame stark against the shadows. Bones jutted out at unnatural angles, his body gaunt from eons of dormancy. Hunger churned in his gut, gnawing relentlessly as he moved with hurried purpose toward his private quarters. Wrapping himself in a tattered gown to cover his skeletal form, he paused briefly before a mirror, slicing off chunks of his tangled hair with razor-sharp fangs. An old man stared back at him, eyes closed yet aware.

His steps lacing in no fate, his glare sighing no future, Pacing toward the kitchen, he opened a cabinet bathed in ethereal light. Inside lay jars of crimson-golden liquid and fruits radiating vitality. Yggdrasil’s bounty—a feast fit for gods.

{{{....Yggdrasil’s fruits...and only some demi-god blood. How long was I asleep? Might need to restock soon....}}} he muttered under his breath, seizing a giant jar of blood and several glowing fruits.

Devouring the food ravenously, his transformation began almost immediately. Pale skin flushed with color, wrinkles smoothed into youthful perfection. His oversized gown tightened around a newly restored physique, and when his crimson eyes finally opened, their brilliance shone brighter than any star.

{{{haaaa....this is the stuff.}}}

There he stood, with his prime form, Dracula D Tepesh stood reborn, his essence revitalized after millennia of slumber. Awake now, he felt the tremors rippling across the Dark Continent—from the first floor to the abyssal depths of the 999th layer. Even Jörmungandr stirred uneasily, sensing the ancient aura leaking into the void below.

And then, there were the demons. Countless invaders tainting his sacred ground, challenging the very fabric of his creation. They would pay dearly for their insolence.

Following the scent of sulphur, Dracula sighed deeply. He pushed open the heavy door to one of his most sacred rooms—a manifestation born from centuries of crafting and enforcing his laws. It was an office unlike any other, a space where dreams themselves bent to his will.

It had been eons since he last set foot here. Maintaining the dreams of all living beings wasn’t just responsibility; it was destiny—and one that could only be shouldered by someone who existed between life and death. Himself. Dracula D Tepesh, the First Undead.

He had awakened briefly once before—for extermination. Not demons or dragons, but his ’own kind’. Vampires, creations meant to assist him in governing the balance between dreaming and reality, had instead turned rogue. They wreaked havoc across realms, destroying demon cities and dragon lairs alike. Each execution left scars on his undead heart—regret for what they might have been, anger at what they became.

Opening the door now, he gazed upon the infinite sea stretching endlessly before him. Every droplet represented a dream, every ripple a fragment of consciousness.

With another sigh, he stepped into the vast expanse, sinking effortlessly into its depths as though walking through water yet breathing air. His crimson eyes scanned the realm after centuries away, noting how the creatures within stopped mid-task at his presence. Nightmare Knights stood frozen alongside Dreaming Citizens, their forms shifting seamlessly between human-like figures draped in soft clouds and dark-armored beasts with claws dripping shadow.

"Is that him?......Dracula? ....Our God is real?" murmured one knight, voice trembling with awe.

"He is here!! He is real!!" another cried out, disbelief giving way to reverence.

"The mighty Dracula has returned!!!" echoed throughout the dreaming sea, reverberating like thunder.

A faint smile tugged at Dracula’s lips as his citizens gathered around him like fanatics drawn to flame. But admiration quickly turned sour when realization struck him—the absence of leadership. Where were his disciples? Those he entrusted with managing this delicate balance?

{{{.....was I gone that long?}}}

Before chaos erupted further, disrupting the flow of work, he vanished, taking a Dreaming Knight with him to a secluded corner of the sea. Here, suspended in silence save for the hum of distant dreams, he fixed his piercing gaze upon the trembling figure.

{{{...I don’t have time for profound answers, for your deep troubling questions. Just tell me—where are my disciples? The ones I left to handle the dream realm.}}}

The knight hesitated, shaking visibly under Dracula’s weighty stare. "Umm... uhh... th-they’re gone. No one’s commanding the realm anymore," he stammered, voice barely audible over the sound of his own terror.

{{{....What!!! They dare!!!}}} Dracula roared, vibrations rippling outward and disintegrating the poor knight instantly.

Just then, a deafening roar shattered the stillness. "DRACULA!!! I @##$%$# CHALLENGE YOU!!!" bellowed a voice laden with malice and fury.

{{{Haaa..... I need to calm down and fix this mess first.}}} Dracula muttered, diving deeper into the abyssal waters.

Deeper and deeper he descended until finally, he reached the source of the disturbance—a dense blue bubble pulsating with echoes of demons and reeking of sulphur. This ego belonged to someone plagued by external forces, invaded by entities not meant to trespass here.

{{{Fucking demons. How did they enter this poor soul?}}} Dracula growled, reaching for the bubble. pulling it up in his arms, as his hand closed around it, he felt resistance—something unnatural tethering it in place. Beneath the blue bubble lay another, golden and radiant, fused seamlessly to the first. A human essence intertwined with demonic corruption.

{{{....the stench is coming from here!!???}}}

He tried again, pulling harder, but failed. The sheer mass of the ego below was unbearable even for him.

{{{....what the fuck!? Whose ego is this?}}}

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Monster’s Guide

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Chapter 15: Castle of The UNDEAD lord.

High atop a cursed peak, where stormclouds choke the stars and the wind carries wails of the damned, the Castle of the Undead Lord of Dreams stands as a blasphemous wound in reality. Its obsidian spires claw at the heavens, their edges glinting with a sickly, phosphorescent glow that throbs like a dying heart. The air is thick with an oppressive dread, a miasma of whispered terrors that slither into your mind, unbidden, unraveling sanity with every syllable. The ground itself recoils, cracked and blackened, as if scorched by the castle’s infinite malevolence.

This is no mere stronghold—it is alive, a sentient monolith woven from the Lord’s eternal nightmares. Its walls, impervious to blade, spell, or divine wrath, pulse with a grotesque warmth, as though veins of some unholy ichor course beneath. No army has ever breached its iron gates, etched with runes that writhe and scream when gazed upon. Those foolish enough to approach are devoured by shadows that peel flesh from bone, their final cries trapped in an endless echo within the castle’s depths.

The Castle of the Undead Lord of Dreams knows you. It senses your deepest fears, crafting labyrinthine horrors tailored to shatter your soul. Time frays within its halls—one step could bind you to an eternity of torment, where seconds stretch into centuries of unrelenting agony. Phantoms of lost adventurers linger in the fog, their hollow eyes pleading, their mouths sealed by an unseen curse. The Lord himself, a formless sovereign of dread, weaves dreams so vivid they bleed into reality, trapping intruders in cycles of despair no mortal mind can endure.

Never enter. No weapon, no courage, no god can defy its boundless power. To cross its threshold is to become one with its unending nightmare, forever lost in the Undead Lord’s dreamscape, where even death offers no escape.

page 95

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